Thoughts in Tattoos
by Angel Descendant
Summary: AU. An article written to a newsletter about a woman, her first love, and what ended it all. 5995.


_Condensed version of the story it took me so long to put up. Artwork's from zerkaze, her 'Nobody Knows.' Do check her deviantart. It took me this long to put this up. Finally._

**Thoughts in Tattoos**

It took me twelve years to finally come back home and no longer recognize it. The only thing missing for my tale as the prodigal daughter are parents to welcome me.

Let me establish that for fourteen years already, I lost them one by one. My brother was studying for college that time that mom passed away. It was a good thing my aunt would welcome me with open arms in her house, with the exception that I hide myself while entering and leaving. It took me three months to figure out then that I was the bane of my town's existence, and my aunt was a coward for not telling the townspeople we share the same blood. But it wasn't the reason she died a year after I finished college. At least I hope so.

She wasn't the reason why I left. On my first day of classes thirteen years ago, I was a giddy lass. My brother was coming home that year because of a job transfer from the state prison. My year playing the town victim would be over that senior year. During the summer and my first week of classes, I was studying my arse off for the college entrance exams. I wanted to go to the city and leave the town for good. I barely had any friends and the vendors were often buzzing when I pass by.

I never thought that June was the exact moment that would change everything. That time would be the reason I'm walking here by the gravestones to search for his grave. I would well up when I see the date of death etched in that eroding stone. I came back because the past finally caught up to me. _He _caught up to me.

His name was Gokudera Hayato, or so he said he was.

He was a transfer student from the capital. He was scrawny yet tall, with prominent facial features that spews out foreign blood flowed inside his bony body. His skin was pale, almost ghostly white. His eyes were an unmistakable shade of green. But the thing I best remember was the deep scowl he had as our class adviser introduced him and told us he came from somewhere in Tokyo. It screamed 'I HATE THIS PLACE.' He drove the point home when he broke a girl classmate's nose and picked a fight with the guys because they 'invaded his space.'

I would be the one to eventually deal with him, no matter how scared I was to come home in one piece. It was bad enough for me that I was already prepping up for the entrance exams, and I had to ask him to come to class because his poor exam scores wouldn't be enough to help his rising number of absences. It was like he gave up school altogether, the adviser said.

I hated him during the first two months. Not because of how he treated the girls like they were barbecue sticks, but because he was a nuisance for being such a spoiled brat. I hated the guts of rich kids like him, who'd throw away whatever the parents had provided for them. I hated him because he was trying hard to be an outcast, while I was doing my best just to be normal. It was a good thing people flocked to him, while I had to try for two years to talk to each and every one only to fail. He had things easy and he didn't care.

When I saw his dilapidated one-room apartment, my expectations fell in one swoop. He didn't even have anything inside, except a mattress for a bed, a pillow and the textbooks and uniforms scattered all over the place. When my adviser asked him if he'd come to school he just shrugged.

I shouted at him in front of my teacher, to my future embarrassment. I told him what a pompous brat he was, not being able to appreciate what his parents provided for him, all in English of course. I shouldn't have bothered since he could understand me even in Japanese. He then shouted that he had no parents to care for him in the first place, nearly strangling me in the process. If this school was so much a big deal for me, then it was my business and just let him be.

I didn't give up. I camped outside for a week, getting hot meals from my aunt in the dead of night. My brother was watching by the _gotohan_ in front of the two-storey house and telling me I was going nuts and should stop already. But the transfer student managed to come out to buy food, and when he saw me heading out to school, without any baths, he had to have me inside his place for me to smell nice. He followed me to class after and told me to get out of the gate from then on.

The next task assigned to me by the adviser on the pretext of getting extra points on Social Studies was pulling his grades up. What surprised me that time, was how incredibly smart the transfer student was if you taught him the basics. The reason why he was flunking math was unawareness of the basic formulas, while in Physics it was simply because he didn't know some of the words!

I envied however, his fluency in English. He'd often get the top grades, much to my dismay. He could speak also gibberish languages to other foreigners when we were selling street food by the beach for our Home Economics club.

Maybe the first time that I truly doubted him being the normal angsty teen people often perceive him as was during our Scouting trip in the mountains. Being a girl or boy scout was obligatory. Our group of five, which included him, wasn't able to find the trail. Surprisingly, during the night he was able to guide us back to our original camping place, just in time for a teacher to welcome us back.

He nearly killed me then. When we were looking for firewood and were a great distance away he disarmed me before I knew what was happening and had my neck at _bolo_ point. It was the first time I've ever felt that kind of fear. After a few seconds though he throws it a few inches from my right foot and turns away.

"Don't let me out of your sight," he says in his husky voice before shuffling back to camp.

Despite the shock, I obeyed. He didn't utter a word when I went to his place for tutoring purposes. He didn't protest when I waited for him during his arnis practices for the division meet.

And all those times, I felt that there was someone watching our every move. It was the feeling when your skin prickles and you feel something eerie running through your spine. With three years since my mother's death of being under the limelight for the townsfolk to scrutinize me, it was the first time I've ever felt someone watching me with such an air of malevolence.

In those three months I never managed to sleep soundly. I wanted to know the reason why he told me those words. I wanted to know why he was so smart and so dumb at the same time. I wanted to know why he was almost good at anything except befriending people. I wanted to know why he never had anyone with him in the first place.

I even went to Manila to search for his name. On the pretext of a national press competition, I used those ample five days to know the truth. But only looking at the television, along with my stunned classmates, did I realize the answer was under my nose all along. Only when I scoured through the old newspaper clippings, was when I truly managed to piece everything together.

I confronted my brother first. I asked him straight out, if his homecoming and the transfer student's arrival were mere coincidences. When I confirmed my hunch, I had to muster the strength to knock at his door. I was still trembling when he opened it.

"Why didn't you escape that time in camp?" I asked, not being able to look at him. He didn't answer and let me in. He was now cleaning his stuff since I kept arguing when he would get rid of the smell.

"What did you think of your sentence then?" I press further. Maybe the first question caught him off guard.

"The judge is an idiot," he laughed bitterly before chucking some filthy clothes in the basket. "He could've given me the death penalty as soon as I was told guilty."

"My brother was your warden."

He chuckles. "I know. You both have the same eyes."

"Your gang killed my father four years ago."

"He was stupid for being there then."

"You're not sorry?"

"I don't honestly care. I've killed too many to care."

I wiped my eyes. I wanted him to say that. That was an answer I wanted the normal him to say.

"Your mother was stupid for letting his death get to her." He was really good to figure how my mother died based on the things I told him.

"She was. But then if she was still here, maybe we would've starved. My auntie only took me in because it was a polite thing to do."

"Was that the reason why your aunt is ashamed of you? Because your mom became nuts and died?"

"She's ashamed that she's related to a thief and murderer," I said with no more remorse and bitterness. "She was smart enough to make sure the money she took was already spent for my brother who was studying that time."

"Then you say your mother didn't deserve to die?"

"She did. She ruined lives for half a year. She deserved to take the blame. Just like you do by taking this sentence."

He was a wanted terrorist, enjoying a blood romp of nine years before getting arrested at the tender age of thirteen. He enjoyed a three year stay in prison, with my brother as one of the guards before getting released here as a normal brooding high school student. He'll return back to Manila to get a dose of lethal injection after graduation.

I thought his behavior would change for the better after that. It didn't. He never talked to me and look at any of us, whether inside the classroom or at home. The truth of his existence spread like wildfire, but only few actually picked on him for it. Many were afraid of him. Most of them ended up going to the principal's office, and he didn't give a damn with having extra swellings and scars after school.

I was as stubborn as he is by not lifting a finger to help. He was just too indifferent to the world. He no longer cared what was going to happen to him since the future was already inevitable. In a few days' time, he stopped coming to class again, and the school staff now knowing the truth didn't even bother to have me fetch him.

Looking back, maybe the reason why I knocked hard at his door was because I just hated him. My mom, up to her dying day, kept giving me advice and tips on how to survive on my own. She was fussy till the end. When it opened I was prepared to hear a crack and a blind shot of pain from my nose. He just looked at me with those cold eyes of his before I saw a spark of life from them.

He then let me in. For real. That moment on, I only left his side whenever he took me home. During weekdays, we would be sitting by the irrigation canal in the middle of the rice paddies, a block away from school. During weekends, we would go either to the beach or the river, all the while eating watermelon. He loved watermelon. Or we would go to the coconut farm during Saturday mornings. He was beside me while I maneuvered the carabao to kebab falling coconuts. After filling our cart, we would eat the soft white meat and then drink the juice.

He told me a lot of stories about his life, all the good and bad sides of being a wanted man. He told me about his comrades, and of how nice they actually were, only blinded by romanticized idealism at a very young age that it polluted their minds completely. All the while, his blank expressions subtly moved into quick smiles, unmasking his wonder of ever seeing them again.

Months passed and soon we were now putting up Christmas decors in October. I helped him make Christmas lantern cut-outs to decorate his home walls. During breaks in class while we were putting up decors slowly some of my classmates would walk up to him and ask him so many questions it was a surprise he didn't attempt to hit them. In his low voice he gave short answers that were enough to satisfy each question. One question had me giggling. A girl classmate asked whether he was courting me. I giggled because he didn't know what 'courting' meant.

He'd end up becoming close to my brother. He was present during Christmas dinner, with my aunt sneakily lifting down the curtains while we gorged on ham and spaghetti. My brother would ask him solemn questions at first, but he'd often crack up because of his cluelessness to everyday stuff. My brother and I got him an alarm clock so he'd go to school early. He, meanwhile, gave me a copy of a poem a Japanese teacher gave him before getting bombed on a plane. It took me ten years later before I finally understood it.

I could still remember when he told me he found out what 'courting' meant. It was during the last night of the year and my brother was letting some firecrackers fly free in my aunt's backyard. We were lighting up lighters a couple of yards away. He then told me the reason why he didn't escape that time was because he knew there were policemen waiting by the mountain pass and he'd get shot on the spot. That was the moment he truly feared dying.

His green eyes glowed with such warmth then. He merely stared at me and soon the fountain of light crackled and hissed while brother roared with delight in the background. But I could still hear his words despite the crackling and honking and screaming of 'Happy new year.' He thanked me for making him feel this indescribably good feeling inside him. Soon enough he nestled his head onto my shoulder and my brother only looked at us before beaming.

During the last three months of his stay we never said 'I love you' to each other. He might have never even understood the love as concretely as my narrow mind could take in, but it was fine for us both. During the afternoon we'd be attempting to walk on the edge of the rice paddies to sit on the battered nipa hut in the middle of the fields. We would talk nonstop either about academics or the new friends he attracts. Before dusk we'd sit on the cemented seat near the Baywatch to stare at the starlight getting washed over the rumbling of the waves. He made sure I went home before six-thirty and would often bid my aunt and brother 'good evening' before leaving.

We never even held hands. I guess it was because we were just gawky teens who don't know anything about public affection. Many of our classmates refused to be his group mates in class altogether. Some though didn't conform and became our friends. They were kind enough to help me during the school foundation day and the student council elections. They pried and kept asking me how we ended up together but I only gave hints. He said nothing to them.

Until graduation, I had to help him throughout from the graduation gown up to grooming him properly. He managed to score a seat in the Top 10, and my aunt surprisingly filled in as his parent and marched along with him to get his medal and diploma. As salutatorian, I made sure to add him along with my family in my thank you speech. I also included a tongue-in-cheek commentary for my classmates and the townspeople for being such a warm bunch. I had to hold back my tears then. It was the time I truly didn't want high school to end. We only left the auditorium after we cleaned everything up.

Our relationship ended as soon as it began the night we graduated. While I was helping to load his stuff in the police car, he walked up to me and attempted to return back the alarm clock. When I refused he threw it hard into the ground and continued stomping on it until it completely broke. I continued looking at him adamantly, telling him to pick that up because it was given by auntie and _onii-chan._

He told me he didn't give a damn and we were breaking up. I simply nodded, knowing perfectly well this was going to happen. What surprised me though was when he took my hand and ran to my aunt's house. He then prostrated before us, breaking the brooding mood, saying he wanted to break up with me and he was thankful to us for being such good hosts to him. We would've laughed if not for the two policemen popping up to take him away. By then my aunt began to cry and embrace him tightly. I turned away to hide my tears. My brother nodded gravely and pulled her away as the other policeman handcuffed him.

_Kuya _merely led a sobbing auntie back into the house and then patted me on the back. He asked me to follow him back to Manila. He told me it would be his treat. I wiped my eyes and stayed with him in the other police van as we went past the mountains and back to the city.

I couldn't thank him enough even until now. My brother was the person who didn't protest when he confessed to me. It sucks because Ryohei-niichan_'s_ name is now set in this grave stone. It sucks because if I refused his offer, he would've stayed with us at home, perfectly safe from the horrible events afterwards.

Before he went to the execution room, I visited him in his cell. He didn't look at me. I told him he didn't need to apologize for breaking the clock. He then embraced me tightly. Only then did I feel his entire body trembling violently. He kept murmuring that he was afraid of dying. That he hated the judge for making him regret and plead to Him for another shot. He wanted to stay by my side a little longer.

Who knew, ten minutes later, he would get his wish? Who knew, that as I sneaked under the medicine cart, my brother would receive a head shot in front of my eyes? Who knew that most of the policemen were his brothers-in-arms in disguise? I had to bite my lip even till I tasted blood to control myself from shaking.

Before I knew it, I heard the swish of cloth and the loud clang of the upturned metal cart. Three guns immediately point at my head as someone kicks me in the stomach. He barely displayed any emotion and spoke to the others in gibberish. The others nodded in assent as one of them hoists me up and escape along with them in a beautiful chevy. One gun was pointed at my head throughout. None uttered a word. For what seemed like hours they finally chucked me out. We were in the sandy beach. A motorboat was nestled safely by the rocks. He continued uttering nothing as he tied me in place of the motorboat. The waves were wildly icy as they continued to slap me. He attempted to touch my face. He was incredibly warm.

"I slipped a blade on your bra," he said in a hushed voice. "Just peel off the paper and you can cut yourself free. There's a souvenir shop a couple of kilometers nearby."

I said nothing. I was too dumbfounded to even moan. I was too scared to cry.

"They figure I'll kill you here and then," he said. "Make it look like you drowned yourself."

I shivered. His hand flits across my right cheek. He bows his head.

"I'm sorry this is the only payment I can give you. Thank you for everything," he says as he gives me one last embrace. "I will never forget."

I suddenly felt warm liquid flow from my eyes. He kissed my forehead and I could only inhale and exhale breathlessly as a sad smile worms from his lips.

My memory was hazy after that. An hour after I heard the roar of their boat slowly dissipating from the waves of high tide, I managed to reach the house. With the caretaker's help there, I managed to return to Manila and the rest is history.

I studied hard in college, got myself a job in the UAE embassy, and tried searching for him all throughout the Middle East, and later the Americas and eventually to Europe. I've encountered a lot of incidents, people, emotions and epiphanies. It took me almost eight years before coming back because of it.

I returned because of that. I ultimately gave up.

Maybe there's a reason for me going to a fruitless search only to come back, empty-handed to the place where I started. Maybe there's an answer to why I will come back and settle down here eventually with my significant other. There might be an explanation to why I'm no longer looking back when I see those familiar pair of emerald eyes past the gravestones as I return to the car waiting for me. But I no longer intend to search and ultimately not find any real answers.

What can I say? I guess I easily give up and hardly forget. Five years ago, I even tattooed the name of my first love on my nape. I can't remove it. I know it will hurt.


End file.
